Marie Brennan - Midnight Never Come

She stood and faced the circle of sovereigns, the London Sword sheathed in her hands. The gown she wore, midnight-blue silk resplendent with moonlight and diamonds, felt oddly conspicuous; she still remembered her time out of favor, hiding in the corners of the Onyx Hall, dressed in the rags of her own finery. But the choice was deliberate: many of those gathered about her wore leather or leaves, clothing that less closely mirrored that of mortals.

Lune had a point to make. And to that end, she lifted her gaze past those gathered immediately beneath the oak, looking to the attendant knights and ladies that waited beyond.

Lifting one hand, she beckoned him to approach.

Standing between the Goodemeade sisters, Michael Deven hesitated, as well he might. But Lune raised one eyebrow at him, and so he came forward and stood a pace behind her left shoulder, hands clasped behind his back. He, too, was dressed in great finery, faerie-made for him on this day.

“Those of you gathered here today,” Lune said, “remember Invidiana, and not fondly. I myself bear painful memories of my life under her rule. But today I ask you to remember someone else: a woman named Suspiria.

“What she attempted, some would say is beyond our reach. Others might say we should not reach for it, that mortal and faerie worlds are separate, and ever should stay so.

“But we dwell here, in the glens and the hollow hills, because we do not believe in that separation. Because we seek out lovers from among their kind, and midwives for our children, poets for our halls, herdsmen for our cattle. Because we aid them with enchantments of protection, banners for battle, even the homely tasks of crafting and cleaning. Our lives are intertwined with theirs, to one degree or another — sometimes for good, other times for ill, but never entirely separate.

“Suspiria came to believe in the possibility of harmony between these two worlds, and created the Onyx Hall in pursuit of that belief. But we do wrong if we speak only of her, for that misses half the heart of the matter: the Hall was created by a faerie and a mortal, by Suspiria and Francis Merriman.”

Reaching out, Lune took Deven by the hand, bringing him forward until he stood next to her. His fingers tightened on hers, but he cooperated without hesitation.

“I would not claim the Onyx Hall if I did not share in their belief. And I will continue to be its champion. So long as I reign, I will have a mortal at my side. Look upon us, and know that you look upon the true heart of the Onyx Court. All those who agree will ever be welcome in our halls.”

Her words carried clearly through the still summer air. Lune saw frowns of disagreement here and there, among the kings, among their attendants. She expected it. But not everyone frowned. And she had established her own stance as Queen — her similarity to Suspiria, her difference from Invidiana — and that, more than anything, was her purpose here today.

The day did not end with speeches. There would be celebrations that night, and she would take part, as a Queen must. But two things would happen before then.

She walked with Deven at twilight along the bank of a nearby stream, once again hand in hand. They had said many things to one another in the month since the battle, clearing away the last of the lies, sharing the stories of what had happened while they were apart. And the stories of what had happened while they were together — truths they had never admitted before.

“Always a mortal at your side,” Deven said. “But not always me.”

“I would not do that to you,” Lune responded, quietly serious. “’Twas not just Invidiana’s cruelty that warped Francis. Living too long among fae will bring you to grief, sooner or later. I love the man you are, Michael. I’ll not make you into a broken shell.”

He could never leave her world entirely. The faerie wine he drank had left its mark, as Anael’s power had done to her. But it did not have to swallow him whole.

He sighed and squeezed her hand. “I know. And I am thankful for it. But ’tis easy to understand how Suspiria came to despair. Immortality all around, and none for her.”

Lune stopped and turned him to face her, taking his other hand. “See it through my eyes,” she said. “All the passion of humanity, all the fire, and I can do no more than warm myself at its edge.” A presentiment of sorrow roughened her voice. “And when you are gone, I will not grieve and recover, as a human might. I may someday come to love another — perhaps — but this love will never fade, nor the pain of its loss. Once my heart is given, I may never take it back.”

He managed a smile. “Francis gave Suspiria’s heart back.”

Lune shook her head. “No. He shared it with her, and reminded her that she loved him, still and forever.”

Deven closed his eyes, and Lune knew he, like her, was remembering those moments in the Onyx Hall. But then an owl hooted, and he straightened with a sigh. “We are due elsewhere. Come — she does not like to be kept waiting.”

WINDSOR CASTLE, BERKSHIRE: June 11, 1590

When all the attendants and ladies-in-waiting had been dismissed, when the room was empty except for the three of them, Elizabeth said, “I think ’tis time you showed me your true face, Mistress Montrose.”

Deven watched Lune out of his peripheral vision. She must have been half-expecting the request, for she did not hesitate. The golden hair and creamy skin faded away, leaving in their place the alien beauty of a faerie queen.

Elizabeth’s mouth pressed briefly into a thin, hard line. “So. You are her successor.”

“Yes.” Deven winced at Lune’s lack of deferential address, but she was right to do it; Elizabeth must see her as a fellow queen, an equal. “And on behalf of my people, I offer you a sincere apology for the wrongs your kingdom suffered at the hands of Invidiana.”

“Is that so.” Elizabeth fingered her silken fan, studying Lune. “She did much that was ill, ’tis true.”

Deven could not make up his mind which queen to watch, but something in Elizabeth’s manner sparked a notion deep within his brain. “Your Majesty,” he asked, directing the words at the aging mortal woman, “how long did you know Anne Montrose was not what she seemed to be?”

Elizabeth’s dark gaze showed unexpected amusement, and a smile lurked around the corners of her mouth, proud and a little smug. “My lords of the privy council take great care to watch the actions of my royal cousins in other lands,” she said. “Someone had to keep an eye on the one that lived next door.”

This did startle Lune. “Did you—”

“Know of others? Yes. Not all of them, to be sure; no doubt she sent temporary agents to manipulate my lords and knights, whom I never saw. But I knew of some.” Now the pride was distinctly visible. “Margaret Rolford, for one.”

Lune gaped briefly, then recovered her dignity and nodded her head in respectful admission. “Well spotted. I would be surprised you allowed me to remain at court — but then again, ’tis better to know your enemy’s agents and control them, is it not?”

“Precisely.” Elizabeth came forward, looking thoughtful. She stood a little taller than Lune, but not by much. “I cannot say I will like you. There is too much of bad blood, not so easily forgotten. But I hope for peaceful relations, at least.”

Lune nodded. Looking at the two of them, Deven marked their choice of color: Lune in midnight blue and silver, Elizabeth in russet brocade with gold and jewels. Neither wore black, though Elizabeth often favored it. For the striking contrast with her auburn hair and white skin, or out of some obscure connection to or competition with Invidiana? Either way, it seemed both were determined to separate themselves from that past, at least for today.